


Three Times Mihashi Didn't Pitch and One He Did

by daisydiversions



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte
Genre: Baseball, Gen, Holding Hands, So Married, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-18
Updated: 2008-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-10 02:44:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisydiversions/pseuds/daisydiversions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Times Mihashi Didn't Pitch and One He Did

"Oh, maaaaaaan," Tajima wailed, drooped over the dug-out fence. "I want to pitch a sinker too~!"

"I won't allow it," Abe told him flatly, buckling the pads around his shins. "Your control is terrible with the sinker and your pitch count is high enough as it is."

"Buuu," Tajima complained. "Abe's too strict."

"You said you'd be the ace even on a favor," Abe reminded him blandly. "Well, all favors have to be repaid somehow, don't they?"

Internally, he was seconds away from dragging Tajima into the showers and showing him exactly how strict Abe could be, but experience had proven the attention only encouraged Tajima, and Abe didn't want to be thrown out of another game for attacking his own teammate. One practice game was enough to show how disastrous Tajima was off his leash. It wasn't a scorecard anyone would wish to see repeated. Even Tajima.

Tajima wriggled a little more against the chain-links, as three more of Junta's pitches ended smartly in Kawai's glove, and Mizutani slunk back to the dug-out.

"Or would you rather Nishiura catch for you again?" Abe asked darkly from between his teeth. 

"Mmph," Tajima grunted grudgingly, but began to pry himself away from his mood and snatched up his mitt.

This pouty, whinny Tajima was much easier to sway than a bouncy, irrational Tajima, but the tradeoff for Abe's ease was countered with high risk. Abe felt like Tajima's innocence was a balance that the whole of their team hung on, one disenchantment away from the day Tajima would become reluctant, disillusioned, and never pick up a baseball again. Tajima's behavior was erratic enough that Abe felt like it could come at the blink of an eye.

So far, Tajima's need for a challenge had always won out over whatever petty argument Abe was righting him on, but it made Abe uneasy that their success laid so entirely upon one person. One genius person to be sure, but a volatile one.

As the umpire announced the change, Tajima sprung up and gave Hanai a cheerful smack on the butt as he returned from base coaching. Abe secured the chest protector and stepped out into the pouring rain, recalling the data for the next hitter. 

As he crouched across from Tajima, a long half diamond's length away, Abe suddenly wondered what kinds of pitches that Mihashi kid would have thrown had he not run off on that first day. 

Tajima grinned cheekily when the batter stepped into the box and Abe knew before he even gave the sign that Tajima would ignore it.

Abe pulled his mask over his face and stretched out his glove anyway.

 

*************************

Abe tied off another bag of ice and was almost satisfied with the painful hiss Hamada made when it met his skin. 

"You are a complete idiot," Abe told him severely. 

"Yeah," Hamada agreed goodnaturedly. The hand that wasn't attached to the arm that might as well be falling off went to rub the back of Hamada's neck, leaving the ice bag on his shoulder to teeter and his eyes to drop to his muddy cleats. "Thanks for always taking care of me."

There was a finality to the way Hamada spoke that made Abe's headache pulse that much more. "I wish you'd think to take care of yourself," Abe snapped. "Sports are supposed to make your body healthy, not rip you apart _literally_ at the limb!"

Abe was ready to inflict pain that would make Hamada's elbow and shoulder flare ups look like a skinned knee by comparison. The entire spring was a wash now anyway, but Izumi was hovering by the med kit, and while Abe wanted to dole out some punishment on him too, as long as Izumi was still fit, Abe would need him for next season.

"And _you_." Abe grabbed Izumi by the shirt and bodily hauled him within arms reach, just in case he changed his mind about needing him next season. "You don’t look nearly surprised enough not to have known about this all along."

Izumi sighed in a long suffering sort of way that Abe felt he was in no capacity entitled to. But Izumi's sideways glance suggested that Izumi wasn't above punching Hamada in the face either, and Abe released his hold on Izumi's collar in approval. "He told me it'd gotten straightened out." 

Wilting under the weight of an additional glare, Hamada fiddled with his ice packs and looked less ashamed then Abe would have liked. "I just wanted to pitch. I'm not going to apologize for that."

"And where does that leave the rest of us?" Abe demanded, more for the desire to yell than to actually get an answer.

"Er," Hamada blustered, "well, there's this kid in my class who grew up in the same apartment complex as me…."

Abe felt that was deserving of a slap across the back of the head.

 

*************************

Hanai, Abe had determined long ago, was adequately useful. He was as dutiful and easy to manipulate as Abe had calculated, but the high stakes of high school baseball and the pressure of pitching for an all freshman team made him choke far more often than Abe would have liked. Being gentle wasn't exactly Abe's forte, but Hanai seemed as bad at accepting platitudes as Abe was at giving them.

Tajima's ability to effortlessly send Hanai's fastball screaming for the fences did not help.

Though the hours they stayed behind working with Momoe were not wasted, Abe couldn't help seeing the very clear reality that Hanai would never be Koshien material. While he was every bit the pliant doll Abe had longed for while catching Haruna's games, there was something missing.

He'd told himself, coming to an unknown school just starting up, that all he really wanted was to play baseball, and to love doing that again.

But, Abe acknowledged while polishing his glove the night after another unremarkable practice game, he was too greedy to not want more.

 

*************************

"Thank you, Abe-kun," Mihashi said earnestly.

It was the final game at Koshien their third year. They were playing Tosei and the whole affair had a circular feel to it. The beginning was being remade again and Abe wouldn't have wanted to finish any other way.

Scouts lined the third base line and Abe knew Mihashi wouldn't just walk out of this stadium as the best in Japan. In fact, he was counting on it.

"Didn't I say it," Abe reminded him, pressing the hardball into Mihashi's glove, "That I'd make you into a real ace?"

Mihashi rubbed fiercely at his eyes, nodding fervently, and Abe had to bite his lip around his smile as he headed back to the home plate. 

They would finish it here— three years of making something from nothing, of making baseball mean something, of second chances. 

They would finish it, but it wouldn't be the end. 

And Abe had no regrets.


End file.
